Colors
by EvanescentBeauty
Summary: CHAPTER 6 UP! Michelle Bradley has worked endlessly to make it into a boy's boarding school, and she expected nothing more or less than a good education...but, just like everyone else that year, she gets a lot more than she bargained for. NeilOC
1. Enter Michelle

**A/N:** Dashes by new things.

* * *

Michelle Bradley sat in front of a dark, wooden desk in a fairly uncomfortable chair. The chair, the uncomfortable chair, that detail was most significant to her in the stuffy office of the school. Next to her, sat her parents, dressed to the nines, and sitting _at _the desk, was an older man. Michelle knew very little about the man, but she knew that is name was Mr. Nolan, he was the principal at the boys-only boarding school, Welton Academy, and if all went well today, she would be a student at his school, right along with all the boys. 

"Miss Bradley," began Mr. Nolan, in a voice that sounded like he was about to kill her. "As you know, your parents and myself have made a great many sacrifices to get you to this point. And also, as I'm sure you're very well aware, you will be the first woman to attend this school in its entire history."

Michelle nodded slowly. She hated having her hair down in this ridiculous fashion. It hung off of her head like a blanket, and in the heat of August, it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. She only liked it up in a ponytail, which hopefully, after today, she would be allowed to wear.

"We have made certain arrangements for your stay here at Welton Academy," he continued, straigtening his paper pad on his desk. "And as we've bent certain rules that this school has stood by since the beginning to accomodate you, you will do as you are told."

Michelle nodded again. What did he think she was going to do anyway? Moon everybody?

"You will be given your own room to stay in, which will be situated in the boys hallway. You will also be given permission to shower in the private bathroom down the hall."

Michelle could barely repress a sigh of relief, and a smirk. She couldn't imagine how many boys' heads she'd have to kick into the wall for them to stop peeking under her towel or through the shower curtain.

"However, you will still be expected to perform the same duties, classes and assignments as the other boys, and will be expected to put your best effort forth into all said activites."

Michelle nodded.

"And, I do believe that's it, Miss Bradley," said Mr. Nolan. "Mr. and Mrs. Bradley, it was a pleasure, and I'm sure your daughter will do fine here at Welton."

Michelle then had to suffer through her mother's tears and hugs and her father's admiring smile.

"Mom," she groaned. "This isn't the last time you'll see me...we still have the Greeting Ceremony--"

"I know," moaned Mrs. Bradley. "But you're so young..."

"Mom, I'm seventeen. I can take care of myself."

It took all of Michelle's effort to peel her mother's clinging hands off of herself before she could take the uniform that Mr. Nolan handed her. She was pleased to see that the shirt she was required to wear was very much like the boys'--a button down collared shirt that came halfway down her forearms and a dark blue blazer and skirt to go along with it. There was also a sweater for winter, bearing the letters WA in curly font.

Michelle had been thoroughly suprised that Nolan had allowed her into the school at all... but considering the fact that she had gotten all A's in every class since practically the seventh grade and the undeniably significant fact that her family was a bit wealthier than some of the other families and had donated copious amounts of money to the school, she had been allowed to attend for one year. If her grades and behaviour showed that she was capable of focusing on her studies within a slightly distracting environment (Michelle had smirked at this) than she would be allowed to finish her senior year at Welton, then go off to college with another nice thing to put on her resume.

Michelle had to admit she wasn't exactly confident in her decision to come to Welton Academy. Not only would she be the only girl there, but she wouldn't be allowed to date the other boys, by order of Nolan. Not that she was complaining, she didn't seriously think that she would have time for a boyfriend anyway, but she liked it when she had options. As she stepped out of the stuffy building to embrace the sweet New England breeze, she took a deep breath. She knew why she had come here in the first place. She had come here so she could get a good education. An education exactly like any other boy, which she knew was what she deserved. Even though the days of men being treated superior to women were dying away, Michelle knew that she would enjoy being amongst boys again. She had been at a girls-only school for her entire academic life, and she would often tell her mother jokingly that she barely knew what a boy her age looked like.

But she wasn't about to let those faults get in the way of having a good education. She was going to love every second of this year.

--------------------------------

Michelle stood up with the rest of the church audience as a bagpipe was heard from the back room. The doors opened to reveal a group of boys filing down the isle carrying banners. She watched them all consecutively as they passed her chair. One of the boys winked at her. Her mouth dropped open slightly, and the boy behind him smirked, giving her a "Don't-read-too-much-into-it" look. She smiled back at him. The boys dispersed off into the sides of the church and filed back into their seats.

Mr. Nolan walked to the front of the church.

"One hundred years ago," he began. "In 1859, forty-one boys sat in this room and were asked the same question tha greets you at the start of each semester. Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?"

Michelle looked around as the uniformed boys all throughout the pews rose to their feet and spoke loudly and clearly.

"Tradition, honor, discipline, excellence."

Quickly, the boys returned to their seats.

"In her first year," contined Nolan. "Welton Academy graduated five students. Last year we graduated fifty-one, and more than seventy-five percent of those went on to the Ivy League."

Michelle clapped politely with the rest of the crowd, smiling sweetly and pretending not to think about how Mr. Nolan spoke as though he were a bowl of spoiled ice cream.

"This kind of accomplisment is the result of fervent dedication to the principles taught here. This is why you parents have been sending us your sons. This is why we are the best preparatory school in the United States!"

The church clapped loudly and there were scattered cheers. Mr. Nolan leaned back slightly, soaking in the applause. As soon as the cheering had died down, he began to speak again.

"As you know, our beloved Mr. Portius of the English department retired last term. You will have the opportunity later to meet his replacement, Mr. John Keating, himself a graduate of this school and who, for the past several years, has been teaching at the highly regarded Chester School in London."

Michelle craned her neck to get a glimpse of her English teacher, who had a humble smile on his face and a graduate's robe on. He looked nice enough. Apparently her father's donations had not gone completely to waste-- not that she actually thought they would. She leaned back in her chair, satisfyed for the time being.

"And, as some of you may have heard, we have decided to admit one girl into Welton this year; Miss Michelle Bradley."

All heads turned to look in her direction, and she glowed as red as a cherry. She gave a little wave and tried to sink down in her seat, but her mother pinched her in the side so she sat up straight.

She saw the boy who had given her the sympathetic look who sat two pews in front of her. He must have sensed her embarrassment, and he gave her a small smile. She smiled back.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.


	2. Mr Keating

**A/N: **Michelle/Charlie interaction rewritten slightly

* * *

Michelle politely nudged her way through the throng of boys and fretful parents as she tried to find her way to her room. The boys around her were laughing and talking and shouting; she could barely hear herself think, but the excitement was overwhelming. She smiled to herself.

She finally found her room and pushed the door open. There were two beds, but she would be alone, as Nolan had told her. She put her suitcases on one bed. She walked slowly over to the door where she peeked her head out to look at the other boys.

"Hi," said a drawling voice. She turned her head slightly to see a boy standing just to her right.

"Oh, hi," she replied. She recognized him as the boy who had winked at her in the church.

"Charlie Dalton," he said, reaching out a hand. She reached out to shake it, but he brought it back up to smooth his hair. She smirked.

"Michelle Bradley," she replied. She opened the door and returned to her things.

"Oh, everyone knows who _you _are," said Charlie. She noticed how he was inspecting her body more than her face. "You're the only girl at Welton in a hundred years, right?"

"Yeah, big day for me, eh? Err...Mister...Dalton, is it?" she asked. He nodded smugly, his eyes now searching somewhere near where her legs dissapeared into her skirt. "My _face_," she said, pointing a finger forcefully at her mouth. "Is right here."

Charlie grinned cockily. "I know," he said.

"Then act like it," she said, still smiling. She knew exactly why Charlie was looking at her in that way, and she hadn't expected anything other than that. She might as well have a sense of humor about it. It wasn't that she didn't find Charlie attractive...oh yes, he was very good-looking. He had a smile--more like a smirk--that could make any girl weak at the knees, but he was a bit too cocky for her taste. He seemed to be more of a friend than a potential date.

"Hey, Charlie!"

Michelle looked over to see another boy coming up to join him.

"Have you seen the--oh," he said, his voice sliding off into that last syllable. "Uhh...hi, I'm Knox Overstreet."

"Michelle Bradley," she said, shaking his hand. (_This _boy didn't smooth back his hair like Charlie). She didn't know why she bothered telling people her name. The Dalton boy was right; everyone knew who she was. She looked out the door and saw that boys were starting to notice her. She heard things like, "The Bradley girl," or sometimes just, "The girl." She smirked to herself. These boys were just like her. They had spent very little time around other girls their age, and it was only natural (especially in Charlie's case) that the hormones would be raging. Charlie walked around and sat on the chair at her desk.

"D'you mind?" he asked.

"No," she said, enjoying their company. It was entertaining. Knox sat at the typewriter desk.

"Neil!" called Charlie, turning around. "C'mere!"

The boy named Neil came around the corner. It was the boy who had smiled at her during the ceremony.

"Hey," he said. "I see you've met Charlie formally."

"Yeah," she said smiling. "Neil, right?"

"Yeah, Neil Perry," he said quickly, shaking her hand.

"Neil! Study group tonight?" asked yet another boy who had joined them in the room. He had fluffy red hair and freckles. There was another boy standing next to him, still with red hair, but he had glasses.

"Yeah," said Neil, nodding.

"Heard you got the new guy, looks like a stiff!" he cried. "Charlie, Knox? You guys coming?"

"Cam, Meeks, say hello to our new guest," said Charlie, gesturing to Michelle.

"Oh," he said. That seemed to be the common word used when people saw her. "Richard Cameron," he said, shaking her hand.

"Steven Meeks," said the other boy, doing the same. "Welcome to Hell-ton," he said. "You can join our study group tonight if you want."

"Sure!" she agreed, looking for anything that could help her with her studies.

"Oh, hey, _Neil_," said Charlie, pulling a smug expression. "Rumor has it...you did summer school."

"Chemistry," said Neil. "You know my father. Always trying to get ahead."

"Don't you have straight A's?" asked Meeks, leaning back on the bed.

"Yeah...it's never enough for him."

"God, I never thought I'd make it through that ceremony," groaned Charlie, rubbing his eyes. "Nolan's a friggin' _snail_."

"Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?" asked Neil. Together, all the boys recited. "Travesty, horror, decadence, _excrement_."

Michelle chuckled.

"Hey," said Neil. "You guys want to meet him?"

"Who?"

"The new kid!"

"Oh, sure!"

Neil hurried out the door, and came back quickly with a timid looking boy with blonde hair.

"Guys, this is Todd Anderson. His brother was Jeffrey Anderson."

"Valedictorian," said Charlie. "National merit scholar."

All the boys exchanged their greetings, including Michelle as they sat down together.

"It's every bit as tough as they say," said Charlie. "Unless you're a genius like Meeks."

"He flatters me," Meeks assured Todd, grinning. "That's why I help him with Latin.

"And English, and _trig_," Charlie began coughing. Michelle laughed as there was a knock on the door.

"It's open," called Neil. The door opened and Michelle saw an older man standing there. Neil and the other boys rose to their feet, Michelle doing the same.

"Father," said Neil. "I thought you'd gone."

"Mr. Perry," murmured all the boys.

"Keep your seats, fellas, keep your seats," said Mr. Perry kindly. "Neil, I've just spoken to Mr. Nolan," he said, turning to Neil. "I think you're taking too many extra curricular activities this semester, and I've decided that you should drop the school annual."

Michelle looked over at Neil, whose face had turned grim immediately.

"But, I'm the assistant editor this year," he said.

"Well, I'm sorry, Neil," said Mr. Perry, sounding like he wasn't the least bit sorry at all.

"But Father, I can't! It wouldn't be fair--" cried Neil.

"Fellas," said Mr. Perry loudly, drowning out Neil. "Would you excuse us for a moment?"

Mr. Perry turned and walked out the door, Neil following hesitantly. Michelle looked over at Charlie, giving him a "Talk-about-up-tight" sort of look. He met her eyes and gave a little shrug. As soon as the two had left the room, the boys scrambled for a good place near the door.

"Don't you ever dispute me in public, do you understand?" Michelle heard Mr. Perry snarl quietly.

"Father, I wasn't disputing--!" said Neil quickly.

"After you've finished medical school and you're on your own, then you can do as you damn well please, but until then, you do as I tell you. Is that clear?"

Michelle looked down at the ground, feeling extremely sorry for Neil.

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry," said Neil quietly. "You know me, always taking way too much."

"Well, that's my boy. Now listen, you need anything, you let us know, huh?"

"Yes sir."

Mr. Perry turned to leave and Michelle peeked her head around the corner.

"Why doesn't he let you do what you want?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah, Neil. Tell him off. It couldn't get any worse," said Knox.

"Oh that's rich," scoffed Neil. "Like you guys tell your parents off? Mr. Future Lawyer and Mr. Future Banker?" he said, gesturing to Charlie and Knox.

"Okay, so I don't like it any more than you do," said Charlie, smiling slightly.

"But if you have straight A's, why doesn't he let you do something fun?" asked Michelle. "You've earned it, haven't you?"

"I don't know," said Neil, sounding very hopeless. "He just likes having my life under total control."

"He can't do that forever," said Charlie.

"He can do whatever the hell he wants, Charlie, you should know that by now. Just don't tell me how to talk to my father. You guys are the same way," said Neil.

"Well I wouldn't lose to much sleep over it," said Charlie. "It's just a bunch of jerks trying to impress Nolan."

"I don't care, I don't give a damn about any of it," said Neil, laughing slightly. There was an awkward silence.

"Well, uh, Latin, eight o clock, in my room?" asked Meeks.

"Yes," said Neil quickly, sitting up straight.

"Todd, you're welcome to come along if you want," said Meeks.

"Sure," said Todd quietly.

---------------------------------------------

It had been a hard day so far. Michelle wouldn't deny that. Latin had been hell enough; all they had done was recite words the whole time. She had no idea how she would every remember them all. Loads of homework had been assigned in Science, and the math teacher was a stiff. Finally, English. Michelle's best subject. She loved to read and write, and she had a wide-ranging vocabulary and understood grammar.

As the boys filed into the classroom, she took a seat in front of Knox and to the left of Neil. All the boys were laughing and talking.

"Hey, Spaz!" the boys hissed. As the boy in the front named Spaz turned his head, Knox hit him square in the head with a paper ball.

"Brain damage!" laughed Cameron, smacking him on the back. Suddenly, the door to the back opened and the teacher emerged. The class quieted immediately, and Michelle sat up straight in her desk. The teacher came out holding a book and was whistling the 1812 Overture. Michelle found this a bit odd.

She watched him with her eyes as the teacher walked past the rows of desks, opened the door and walked completely out of the classroom. She turned around, looking at Charlie, who snorted with laughter, as did many of the other boys.

"What's going on?" she whispered to Knox. He shrugged.

The teacher reappeared.

"Well, come on," he said, waving slightly. Michelle grinned, grabbed her book and stood up immediately. The other boys followed suit.

As they all filed out into the hallway, she saw the teacher standing there in front of the trophy case that held past graduation photographs and trophies of alumni students. She slipped through them and stood next to Neil.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," she whispered back. "Weird class, huh?"

"So far? Yeah," he said. She smiled.

"O, Captain, my Captain," said the teacher. "Who knows where that comes from?"

Michelle looked around at the other boys to see if any of them knew were it was from. Neil shrugged at her when she turned to him. Todd, however, looked up, surprised, as if he knew the answer, but then said nothing.

"Not a clue?" said the teacher as Spaz blew his nose loudly. "It's from a poem by Walt Whitman, about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now, in this class, you may call me 'Mr. Keating', or if you're slightly more daring, 'O, Captain, My Captain'."

Michelle smirked and looked over at Charlie as Keating said "more daring". Some of the boys chuckled.

"Now, let me dispel a few rumors so they don't fester into facts. Yes, I too attended Hell-ton," he said, leaning in closer slightly. "and survived. And no, at that time I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight pound weakling. I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face."

Michelle chuckled, images from the commercial flashing through her brain as Cameron looked around confusedly.

"Now," said Keating, opening up his book. "Mr...Pitts. That's a rather unfortunate name, Mr. Pitts. Where are you?"

Pitts raised his hand slightly as the boys around him snickered.

"Mr. Pitts, would you open your hymnal to page 542 and read the first stanza of the poem you find there?"

"To the virgins, to make much of time?" he asked hesitantly. Michelle had to hold back a snort of laughter.

"Yes, that's the one. Somewhat appropriate, isn't it?" asked Mr. Keating, eyeing Michelle playfully. She grinned back at him as Pitts began to recite.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a flying, and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying."

"Thank you Mr. Pitts. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'. The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem. Now, who knows what that means?"

_Oh, Carpe Diem...damn, I've heard that before, _thought Michelle. _That's...oh! That's seize the day!_

She thrust her hand into the air quickly. Keating pointed at her.

"It means... 'seize the day'?" she said hesitantly, not really knowing if it was right, but hoping it was.

"I'm sorry, are you asking me?" he asked. "Or are you telling me?"

She grinned slightly. "I'm telling you," she said.

"Well, then say it like you are!" he cried.

"Seize the day!" she cried, just as loud as him.

"Very good!" he replied. "Miss--?"

"Bradley," she said.

"Bradley, very good," he said. "'Seize the day.' 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'. Now, why does the writer use these lines?"

"Because he's in a hurry," answered Charlie smugly.

"No! Ding!" cried Keating, slamming his hand down on an imaginary buzzer. "Thanks for playing anyway."

Michelle looked at Charlie and giggled.

"Because we are food for worms lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die."

Michelle flicked her eyes over at Neil, whose eyes were riveted to Mr. Keating.

"Now, I would like you to step forward over here and pursue some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times, but I don't think you've really looked at them."

Michelle hurried up to the cases to look at the pictures. Neil walked up behind her.

"They're not that different from most of you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in."

Looking over at Charlie for a moment, Michelle leaned in slightly, not really sure of what he was planning. There was a few moments before she heard it.

"_Carpe_..."

She peered over a bit to look at Mr. Keating, who was clearly the one speaking.

"Hear it?" asked Keating quietly. "_Carpe...Carpe Diem. Seize the day... Make your lives extraordinary."_

Silently, Michelle continued to stare at the case, enjoying the moment a lot more than she thought was possible.

------------------------

"That was weird," said Pitts as the boys walked out of class.

"But different," admitted Neil.

"Better than Hager's class," said Michelle. "God, I wanted to kill myself in there. At least he keeps our blood moving."

"Think he'll test us on that stuff?" asked Cameron. Michelle looked around, throwing him a look of disgusted disbelief.

"Are you kidding?" she said, snorting slightly with laughter.

"Come on, Cameron," groaned Charlie. "Don't you get anything?"

"What? What?" asked Cameron.

Michelle just smiled.


	3. A Crush Granted

Michelle hummed blissfully to herself as the hot water ran down over her aching body. _Day one, _she groaned inwardly. _Day one and I'm already exhausted like I've run a marathon. _She could only hope that things got better as the school year went on.

As soon as her hair had been washed, and her body lathered and rinsed, she stepped gingerly out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel around her body. She toweled off her hair and climbed into her evening uniform. She tied her wet hair back in a bun to dry naturally as she hurried out of the bathroom and into her own room, where she stuffed her dirty clothes in the hamper and went to the typewriter. Her mother had made her swear on the Bible that she'd write frequently. She placed her fingers on the dark keys and began typing.

_Dear Mother,_

_Things are going brilliantly here at Welton. _

She smirked to herself as she almost typed "_Hell-ton_".

_The boys are very friendly--don't worry Dad, not too friendly--and the teachers are helpful and thorough in all of my classes. There's a lot of homework, but I'll manage. Not much else to say right now, except that I hope I can make it through tomorrow, and I_

_"_Michelle?"

She looked up to see Neil standing in the doorway.

"Yes?" she said.

"Um, we were meeting up for our study group, but...if you're busy--" he added quickly.

"Oh, no, I'm not busy!"

She stood up quickly, leaving her letter in the tray and grabbed her book bag. She looked up at him as she walked out the door and smiled at him. Her jaw slackened weakly as he gave her the most adorable smile in return. She turned away quickly as he closed the door behind her and smiled to herself. It was too late, though.

She had a crush on Neil.

* * *

"So you have to divide seven 'x' on both sides, right?" murmured Michelle. 

"Yeah, and then you subtract the five to get just 'x'," answered Cameron.

"What about this one?" asked Neil. Cameron leaned over to examine his paper.

"Yeah, just replace these numbers here with 'x' for 'x' and 'y'."

"Of course," said Neil quickly.

"Of course, so what's---?"

Michelle, Neil and the other boys looked up as Knox entered the room in a daze.

"You're back early," said Michelle.

"How was dinner?" asked Charlie.

"Huh?" said Knox, clearly distracted.

"How was dinner?" repeated Charlie.

"Terrible," answered Knox, sitting down at the table.

"What happened?" asked Michelle. "Did they like you?"

"Oh, sure," answered Knox, his voice slurring a bit. "The _Danbury's_ liked me just fine."

"Are you _drunk_?" asked Michelle, disbelievingly.

"Depends," shrugged Knox. Michelle rolled her eyes.

"So, what's the problem?" asked Neil. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"Tonight," began Knox slowly. "I met...the most beautiful girl in my entire life."

"Aww!" moaned Michelle quietly. "What's her name?"

"Chris," he answered dreamily. "Golden hair and green eyes like the darkest emeralds."

"Are you crazy?" laughed Neil. "What's wrong with that?"

"She's practically engaged," answered Knox morosely. "To Chet Danbury."

There were collective groans and sympathetic insults to Chet around the table at these words.

"W-wait a minute, who's Chet Danbury?" asked Michelle, keeping her voice low as to not disturb Hager.

"This football star from the public school," answered Charlie. "That guy could eat a football."

"That sucks," said Pitts.

"Worse than that, Pittsie, it's a tragedy," cried Knox. "A girl this beautiful in love with such a jerk?"

"All the good ones go for jerks, you know that," said Pitts.

"We do not!" cried Michelle, offended.

"Oh, who are you kidding?" scoffed Charlie. "You know you like 'em."

"W-well," spluttered Michelle, trying not to sound too pompous. "_Just _because we may go for boys that aren't nice to _you_, doesn't mean that--"

"They don't spoil you with presents and call you 'baby doll' and drive you around in their shiny new Volvos," answered Pitts grimly.

"Shut up, that is not why we like guys," snapped Michelle, slapping his arm.

"That's what you want us to think. Then _we're _the nice ones, and you still faint when the hot, rich ones take a liking to you," answered Charlie.

"Oh, you're just jealous you can't get a girlfriend!" snapped Michelle.

"Look, does this really matter?" cried Cameron. "We've got work to do, all of you do! Now Knox, open your Trig book to page--"

"You think I'm going to be able to think about trig?" cried Knox.

"Yo-hey!" cried Pitts, as a loud humming began to whistle out of the radio in front of him. "We got something!" Michelle looked over, slightly annoyed as she adjusted her hair band and repositioned her pencil over her paper.

"Alright, gentlemen, five minutes," said Hager. "And lady."

Michelle, feeling abnormally irritable, made a face at him as soon as he turned his back. Nevertheless, she packed up her books and paper and stood up, making for the door along with the other boys.

"Did you see her naked?" teased Charlie.

"Oh, Charlie!" hissed Michelle, exasperated.

"Very funny, Dalton," groaned Knox dejectedly.

"Hey, Michelle!" called Neil, running up to her as she hurried a long ways from the mass of boys.

"Yes?" she said, turning around.

"Hey, how ya doing?" he asked, continuing to walk along beside her.

"I'm doing alright," she replied. "I'm just feeling grumpy tonight...PMS or something." She froze and winced as she realized what she just said, and even more so, _who _she had said it to.

"Err, sorry," she said quietly.

"It's okay," said Neil, chuckling a bit. "I know Charlie can get on your nerves a little bit."

"No, I really like him, I'm just cranky tonight," said Michelle. "Any other day, he's quite entertaining."

Neil laughed. "Yeah, I guess he is." Michelle laughed.

"I guess I'm just tired," she said. Neil said nothing when she grinned at him, but he kind of looked away.

"What's up?" she asked kindly.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

"Really?" she said slowly.

"Umm...well, I guess not..." he said. He paused for a minute. "Err, listen," he said. "I have a confession to make."

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "Err, okay. Go ahead. I'm listening."

"Uhh...I like you," he said quickly. She grinned slightly.

"Oh, okay," she said.

"I just thought...I don't know, I mean I know we can't date, and I know that this is so pathetic and unusual and it's never--"

Suddenly, in a rush of adrenaline--_Damn hormone--s_he leaned up and pecked him on the cheek, something that was completely out of character for her. He blinked and stared off into space for a few seconds.

"I like you too," she confessed. "So...I'll see you tomorrow, yes? English?"

"Uh...oh, err...yesh. I mean, uh...yes."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I meant to say 'sure', and I started to say 'yes'..." he said, his face flushing.

"Okay," she answered, grinning. "English then. Keating's second class...should be fun!"

Neil smiled. "Yeah...alright."

She waved at him a bit, and turned back around to go back to bed.

Neil pressed his fingers against the small place where her lips had touched his skin, and it still tingled. He grinned.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I have some serious problems with this chapter, because the confessions of Neil and Michelle were very uncerimonious, I dunno. And I just ended it there for reasons I don't feel like explaining or even could if I wanted to. 


	4. Understanding Poetry

**A/N:** Here's the banner to my story! There are two and here's why; one of them I really like the colors and shading and stuff, and it would have been my favorite but the pictures arent layered right and that just bugs me. The second one works, but the texture is weird. JUST DEAL. Choose your favorite. REMEMBER TO DELETE THE SPACES!!!!!!!

http:// i114.photobucket .com/ albums/n244/ jackSpArr0w2006/ 2.png

http:// i114.photobucket .com/ albums/n244/ jackSpArr0w2006/ 1.png

* * *

Michelle gave an almighty sigh as the bell chimed 11:30. Finally, trigomotrey was over, and it was time for English. Michelle's one interesting class. She quickly tossed her books into her bag unceremoniously and headed for the door, but not before jotting down the enormous amounts of homework that Hager had assigned them.

"Un. _Believable_," she groaned to Neil and Charlie as they walked out together.

"Get used to it," said Neil.

"Hager's not the worst thing that could happen to you," said Charlie. "We had this Bio teacher, freshmen year. I swear, he'd have us doing a unit a day. Write-ups on labs, vocabulary words...if it was do-able, you could count on it. He left at the end of that year, though, thank God."

Michelle smiled as they continued the walk down to Keating's class in silence. Right before they entered the classroom, Neil pulled her aside.

"You go on ahead, Charlie," he said. Charlie smirked at them both and Michelle whacked him on the shoulder.

"Shut up, Dalton," she said playfully.

"I didn't say anything!" laughed Charlie, walking through the door.

"You were thinking it!" she cried to him from across the classroom.

"So...," Neil began slowly. "About what I said last night, that was really stupid. I don't think I've ever done anything like that in my entire life, but since--"

"Nolan says I can't date any of you," said Michelle, shifting over as the boys filed into the classroom.

"R-right," said Neil. "But when has anyone listened to what Nolan has to say?"

"You sound like Charlie," Michelle said, cocking an eyebrow and pushing her way through the door.

"Three years with him, it starts to rub off," said Neil, following her in. She smiled at him before taking her seat in front of Knox.

"Let's go, gentlemen!" called Mr. Keating, sticking his head out from his office. "One minute!"

The boys scrambled to their seats and took out their books as Mr. Keating arranged his pens and books on his desk. Finally, when everyone was ready, Mr. Keating took out his book and began flipping through the pages.

"Gentlemen, lady, open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction," he said. Michelle opened her book to the crisp, fresh page. In large Roman font read the words, "Understanding Poetry".

"Mr. Perry, will you please read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled 'Understanding Poetry'?"

Neil placed large spectacles on the brim of his nose and began to read.

"'Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, ryhme and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and two, how important is that objective? Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter."

Michelle flicked her eyes up to watch as Mr. Keating got out of his chair and grabbed a piece of chalk from the board, looking back over his shoulder at Neil expectantly.

"'If the poem's score for perfection is plotted along the hoizontal of a graph," Mr. Keating drew a long horizontal line. "--and it's importance is plotted on the vertical," Mr. Keating drew a straight line that connected with the first. "--then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness."

Michelle looked over at Cameron as he, along with a few of the other boys, frantically scribbled down the graph with their ruler and pencil. Neil paused for a short moment to examine the chart, then began reading again.

"'A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal." Mr. Keating drew a bar with a large 'B' next to it. "A 'Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically," Neil paused again to examine as Mr. Keating drew a much larger bar for Shakespeare's sonnet. "--yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will--" He paused for a moment, as if pondering, then continued. "--so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry."

Michelle shifted the position of her book on the table as Mr. Keating placed the chalk back down and turned around.

"Excrement," he said softly. Michelle looked up. "That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry."

Michelle turned her head slowly to look at Neil, who shrugged at her, while Cameron scribbled out his graph.

"I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it."

Michelle laughed slightly and turned around to get Charlie's reaction. He had sat up in his seat. Class was finally getting interesting.

"Now, I want you to rip out that page."

Michelle turned her head back to Mr. Keating, as his words were greeted by dead silence and shocked expressions. The rest of the class figured Mr. Keating had gone completely off his rocker.

"Go on, rip out the entire page. You hear me, rip it out."

When no one did anything, he shouted, "Rip it _out_!!"

Michelle looked down at her paper and position her fingers accordingly, but she heard a rip behind her. She turned around as Charlie brandished his paper jubilantly. Michelle immediately tore out her paper and held it up as well, raising her eyebrows and smiling.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton, Miss Bradley. Gentlemen, tell you what, don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history! Rip it out! RIP!"

Michelle began to tear away at her book as Mr. Keating continued to shout.

"Begone, J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D! RIP! SHRED! TEAR! Rip it out! I want to hear nothing but _ripping _of Mr. Pritchard!"

Michelle laughed out loud as Neil began to rip out his own pages. She grabbed her stack of the introduction and tore it into halves, quarters, eighths...

"It's not the Bible, you're not gonna go to Hell for this," Keating assured the class. "Go on, make a clean tear! I want nothing left of it!" he said, waving his hand and going over to his own room.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Cameron muttered to Neil.

"Rip! Rip! Rip!" cried Neil, pushing Cameron back around to tear out his own pages.

"Brilliant!" said Michelle, throwing a paper ball back towards Knox, who caught it and threw it back. Suddenly, the door banged open, revealing Mr. McAllister, the Latin teacher.

"What the hell is going on here?" he cried. They all turned around in shock, and Michelle had to hold back a smirk as Charlie stuffed a small crumpled piece of paper in his mouth. Michelle's eyes flicked over to the door of Mr. Keating's office, without moving her head, as he came out with a waste basket jubilantly, crying, "I don't hear enough rips!"

"M-Mr. Keating," said McAllister, a bit shocked.

"Mr. McAllister," said Keating, smiling.

_Smiling? _Michelle thought disbelievingly. _Is he crazy? _

"I'm sorry," said McAllister slowly in his thick Scottish accent. "I-I didn't know you were here."

"I am," said Keating, smiling brightly.

"Ah...so you are," said McAllister.

Michelle stole a glance at Charlie who snickered into his shoulder.

"Excuse me," said McAllister, leaving the room.

"Keep ripping!" cried Keating. "This is a battle! A war! And the casualties could be your hearts and souls!"

Keating held out the basket to the boys as Charlie spat out the wad of paper in his mouth.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Armies of academics going forward," he continued, as Michelle tossed her paper balls into the basket. "--measuring poetry. No, we will not have that here. No more of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now in my class you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language," he added, coming to the front of the class. "No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I see that look in Mr. Pitt's eye," said Keating, pointing at Pitts. Michelle looked over at him. "--like nineteenth century literature has nothing to do with going to business school," he looked over at Neil. "or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking, 'Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard, and leard our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions.' I have a little secret for ya. Huddle up. Huddle up!" he cried.

Michelle hurried forward and sat on top of Neil's desk, smiling down at him into his brown eyes before turning her attention back to Keating. There was a pause for the boys to drink in their new position before Keating began to speak.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life, but poetry, beauty, romance, love...these are what we stay alive for!" he breathed out quietly, passion coursing through his quiet words.

"To quote from Whitman: 'O me, o life, of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life? Answer that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.'"

Michelle noticed that Neil's eyes practically shot sparks when Keating said those last words. Keating seemed to notice as well.

_"'That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse'_," Keating repeated, with great emphasis. He looked up at the boys, and then turned to Todd.

"What will your verse be?" he asked. Michelle stole a quick glance at Todd, who shyly turned away.

* * *

"For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen."

There was a great loud rush of sqeaking chairs and plates as the boys and teachers began to pile food onto their plates.

"Pass the potatoes, please," said Michelle to Meeks. She ladled out a great spoonful. She was famished. She passed the bowl to Charlie as Neil hurried over to the table and sat down, his head low.

"Hey, I found his seniors annual in the library!"

He handed the book over to Michelle. She looked down, and sure enough, in the bottom of the right page, was a much younger John Keating. She laughed.

"Oh my God! That's hysterical! Look at him!" cried Michelle, leaning over slightly to let Charlie examine the paper as well.

"Listen to this," said Neil. "Captain of the soccer team, editor of the school annual, Cambridge bound," he paused to create dramatic tension. "_Thigh man_, and the Dead Poets Society."

Charlie let out a disbelieving scoff of laughter and Michelle was grinning ear to ear.

"'Man most like to do anything'," recited Cameron.

"Thigh-man," repeated Charlie, looking off into space. "Mr. K was a hell-raiser!"

"Not surprising. Probably let a rebellion," laughed Michelle.

"What's the Dead Poets Society?" asked Knox.

"I don't know," said Neil.

"Is there a picture in the annual?" asked Meeks.

"Nothing. No other mention of it," said Neil.

"It's either something really good or really bad," pointed out Michelle. "_Dead _Poets Society?"

"You sure it's not, like, the KKK of poetry, or something?" asked Knox.

"No," Charlie said, laughing. "The guy loves poetry, I doubt he'd ever--oh my, here comes the beak."

Cameron quickly stowed the book under the table as Mr. Nolan came up next to the table.

"Enjoying your meal, Mr. Perry?" he asked knowingly.

"Yes sir, very much," he replied. Michelle was very surprised to see that none of the other boys did anything to give them away. Three years of practice had not been wasted.

"Our Mr. Keating," said Nolan. "Finding him interesting boys?"

There were collective voices of of, "Yes, sir," around the table.

"We were just talking about that," said Charlie.

"Good, he has a very impressive record," said Nolan. "He was a Rhodes Scholar, you know."

None of the boys said anything, but they all nodded. Michelle looked down hesitantly at her food in the awkward silence. Like that really mattered to any of them?

"Carry on," said Nolan in a low voice, walking away. There was silence as Nolan walked out of earshot.

"Carry on ripping," said Charlie brightly.

Michelle snorted into her plate and laughed as did Neil and the rest of the boys.

"Rip, rip, rip!" she growled, looking down at her plate. The rest of the boys began growling, "Rip!" to each other.

* * *

Michelle hurried down the courtyard beside Neil and Knox as they hurried after Mr. Keating, who was whistling the 1812 Overture, same as before.

"Mr. Keating?" called Neil. "Mr. Keating? Sir?"

When Keating did not turn around, Neil said hesitantly, "O, Captain, my Captain?"

"Gentlemen," said Keating, immediately turning around.

Michelle chuckled.

"We were just looking in your old annual," said Neil, handing him the book. Keating looked down and chuckled to himself.

"Oh my God," he groaned. "No, that's not me."

The boys chuckled.

"Stanley, 'The Tool' Wilson...God," he muttered to himself, crouching down and continuing to look at th ebook.

"What was the Dead Poets Society?" asked Neil, joining Keating on the ground.

"I doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that," said Keating, with a small smile.

"Why?" asked Michelle. "What was it?"

Keating observed the boys for a moment before leaning forward. "Can you all keep a secret?" he asked.

"Sure," said Neil.

Michelle and the other boys crouched down around Keating.

"The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That's a phrase from Thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of every meeting. You see we'd gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley, the biggies."

Michelle grinned inwardly.

"Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment we'd let poetry work its magic."

"You mean it was just a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?" asked Knox skeptically.

"No, Mr. Overstreet, it wasn't just 'guys'," said Keating. "We weren't a Greek organization, we were romantics. We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from out tongues like honey."

A shiver went through Michelle's spine. It sounded wickedly amazing.

"Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen, not a bad way to spend an evening, eh?" asked Keating. Michelle exchanged intrigued looks with Charlie and Neil.

"Thank you, Mr. Perry," said Keating. "For this stroll down amnesia lane. Burn that, especially my picture."

Michelle chuckled, and looked over at Neil.

"What do you think?" she asked. Neil said nothing, just stared off into space.

"Dead Poets Society," he murmured quietly.

"What?" said Cameron. The school bell rung loudly over the grounds and students around them began returning to the building.

"I say we go tonight," said Neil, standing up.

"Tonight?" asked Charlie.

"Wait a minute," said Cameron.

"Where's this cave he's talking about?" asked Pitts.

"It's beyong the stream, I know where it is," said Neil.

"That's kind of far away," pointed out Michelle. "Are you sure...?"

"That's miles!" groaned Pitts.

"Sounds boring to me," said Cameron.

"Then dont' go!" scoffed Charlie.

"You know how many de-merits we're talking, Dalton?" cried Cameron.

"So don't come!" said Michelle. "Sounds cool to me."

"Look, all I'm saying is that we have to be careful. We can't get caught."

Michelle let out a short burst of laughter as Charlie said, "No shit, Sherlock!"

"You boys there! Bradley! Hurry up!" cried Hager from the doorway.

"All right," said Neil, turning around abruptly, stopping the other boys in their trakcks. "Who's in?"

"Come on Neil! Hager's right--" said Cameron impatiently.

"Forget Hager, no. Who's in?" asked Neil again.

Charlie looked over at Neil with a smile. "I'm in!" he said.

"I as well," said Michelle, stepping forward a bit. Neil gave her a thankful smile as Hager continued to yell at them from the building.

"Me too," groaned Cameron, looking like he was regretting it.

"I don't know, Neil," said Pitts, starting to walk past Neil.

"What? Pitts!" cried Neil.

"Pittsie, come on!" cried Charlie, as the group of boys began to follow him.

"His grades are hurting, Charlie," said Meeks.

"You can help him, Meeks!" said Neil.

"What is this, a midnight study group?" cried Pitts.

"Forget it, Pitts, you're coming. Meeks, your grades hurting too?"

"I'll try anything once," said Meeks.

"Except sex!" pointed out Charlie as they jogged into the building.

Michelle laughed. "Knox?" she called. "You comin'?"

"I don't know," said Knox.

"Come on, Knox, it'll help you get Chris!" said Charlie, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Yeah? How?" asked Knox, his attention now riveted to Charlie.

"Women swoon!" laughed Charlie, speeding off into the building.

"Why do they swoon? Charlie tell me why they swoon! CHARLIE!"


	5. Living Deliberately

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait. I'm working on two more DPS oneshots...one with just Charlie, and another with Todd and Charlie (nonslash).

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Michelle rushed out of her room, securing back her wet hair in a bun. Boys scattered out of the bathrooms in their robes, carrying toothbrushes and combs, as they hurried into their individual quarters. One boy was even playing a kazoo of all things.

"Cut out that racket in there!" barked Hager as he began to leave the hall. The kazoo gave one last triumphant, albeit obnoxious, note before quieting. _Charlie, no doubt, _thought Michelle. She peered through the door tentatively. She wasn't supposed to associate with the boys after hours, and certainly not before bed. She spotted Knox. He gave her a thumbs up. She grinned slightly and mirrored the motion. As soon as Hager was gone, she slipped into Neil's room.

"Neil," she whispered. "Neil, is everything set?" But Neil didn't look at her, his gaze was riveted to something else. It was an aged, disheveled, gray-black book with the words "Five Centuries of Verse" written in gold lettering. She ambled slowly up to look, pressing her shoulder against his inner arm.

"What's that?" she murmured.

"I think..." he began softly, turning the front cover over to expose yellowing pages. Michelle saw "J. Keating, '42" at the top, and below that were the words "Dead Poets". Below the title of the book was printed, "To Be Read At The Opening of D.P.S. Meetings," along with a number of lines from Thoreau, beginning with "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately..."

"Wow," she whispered, gazing up at him. "Keating's book...1942!"

"Yeah," he murmured, smiling. He fixed his eyes on hers and she bit her lip. _This is every girl's dream, _she thought to herself_. Being in an all-boys academy, with spare time on her hands, in the arms of a gorgeous boy...but this...this is different. This is special._

Neil leaned forward somewhat and pressed his lips to hers tenderly. Michelle relished in the stimulating feeling of being in his embrace; she pressed forward, intensifying the kiss, and it was right at the point where she felt Neil's tongue begin to slither into her mouth that she pulled away, a mischievous grin on her face. _Got to leave them wanting more, _she thought, having to bite back a snicker at the mantra of one of her old girlfriends.

"Thirty minutes, right?" she said, squeezing his hand. He grinned.

"Yeah," he said. "See you there."

"Hell yah," she said, beaming.

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As the clock on her mantel clicked 11:30, Michelle stood up, her robe and cloak clasped around her in hopes of warding off the frosty air, a flashlight in her hand. The fortune that she had decided to bring a flashlight was uncanny, but she was just relieved she had one. She tip-toed to the door and creaked it open somewhat. Standing there already were Neil, Charlie and Meeks.

"Hey," she whispered, closing the door behind her. "You guys ready?"

"Yeah," whispered Charlie, winking at her. She had to refrain from snorting in amusement. "Where's Cameron? Aren't you guys roommates?"

"Yeah…combing his hair, most likely," sneered Charlie. "Kiss-ass."

"I am not!"

Michelle had to bite back a snort. Looks like Cameron had decided to grace them all with his presence.

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"Here it is! Look! I found it!"

Michelle twisted around from the tree she was examining to pursue Neil's voice. Sure enough, Neil had discovered what they had been searching for, and there was a large cave beneath some moss and bushes. She squeezed through the tight opening and knocked her head on the top of the ceiling.

Figures.

"Oww!!" she shrieked. "Dammit!"

"You okay?" asked Neil, a concerned expression on his face. Michelle, climbing further into the cave and kneading her bruising forehead, found it comforting but slightly irritating at how much he thought she couldn't take care of herself.

"I'm fine," she assured him quickly, as Pitts thumped his head behind her, letting out a cry louder than hers. Charlie let out a cackle as the rest of the boys filed into the cave one by one and took seats around the perimeter, and began to light a fire. Michelle herself took a seat in between Todd and Knox as Neil stood up at the center. The moist cave caused the fire to emit great amounts of pearly smoke that filled the cave within seconds, choking Michelle and the boys. She let out a cough and waved her hand in front of her face to clear, if anything, a couple of inches of clean air in front of her nose.

"It's too wet!" Meeks insisted.

"No, really?" wheezed Michelle.

"God, are you trying to smoke us out of here?" snapped Charlie.

"No, no," said Meeks. "The smoke's going right up this opening..."

"It's not going to work!" called Michelle. "Just put it out, we have flashlights!"

"All right, all right, forget the fire!" said Neil loudly over the low racket of the boys' voices and low-grade arguments. "Let's go gentlemen."

Charlie held up a lightly smoking cigarette to Neil and whistled to get his attention. Neil took the cigarette and took a drag.

"I hereby reconvene the Dead Poets Society," declared Neil, opening the dilapidated old book, and placing the tip of the cigarette in his mouth. The boys all cheered and Michelle was smiling from ear to ear. She had seldom felt this utterly euphoric and free. So she reached up and clasped the black band holding her hair back with her forefinger and thumb and yanked. In a rush, her long auburn hair fell down over her shoulders. She shook her head to free it more, and ran her fingers through it.

"Hey, you want one?" asked Knox, holding out the crumpled white pack to her.

"No, I don't smoke," she said, taking the pack and passing it on to Todd as Neil said, "Welton chapter."

"The meetings will be conducted by myself and the new initiates now present," said Neil, shining his flashlight on each of the boys individually. "Todd Anderson, because he prefers not to read will keep minutes of the meetings."

Michelle looked over at Todd and mouthed, "What' up?" with a troubled look on her face. He shook his head dismissively and she reluctantly turned back to Neil.

"I'll now read the traditional opening message by society member Henry David Thoreau. 'I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.'"

"I'll second that!" cried Charlie, smiling brightly and taking a drag on his cigarette. Michelle and the other boys chuckled, then turned back to Neil.

"'To put to rout all that was not life, and not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.'"

There was a small pause, and Knox gave a small whistle.

"Sweet," murmured Michelle, smiling.

"And, Keating's marked a bunch of other pages..." muttered Neil, flipping through the book.

"Alright, intermission!" called Charlie. "Did deep right here...right here, lay it down."

"On the mud?" asked Cameron condescendingly. "We're gonna put our food on the mud."

"Meeks, put your coat down. Picnic blanket," sneered Charlie.

"Yes, sir...use Meeks' coat," growled Meeks grudgingly to himself.

"Don't keep anything back either!" snapped Charlie. "You guys are always bumming my smokes."

The boys dumped down a load of food onto the blanket. Michelle, not bothering to speculate where they had attained all this food, snatched a cookie eagerly.

"Raisins?" asked Neil skeptically as a large red box of raisins was thrown into the pile.

"Wait a minute!" cried Charlie. "Who gave us _half_ a roll??"

"I'm eating the other half," said Pitts in a muffled voice stuffed with roll.

"Come on!" groaned Charlie.

"You want me to put it back?" he asked, laughing slightly.

"Alright!" said Michelle. "So how does this thing work? Who goes first?"

All the boys looked around at each other keenly. Pitts gave a little cough and Meeks rubbed his eyes.

"Umm, okay we can just sit here staring at each other, or we can read some poetry," said Charlie, chuckling slightly.

"Alright, well then you go, Mr. Smug," said Meeks, smiling.

"Yeah," said Knox enthusiastically. "You'll be the first poem of the Welton Dead Poets Society."

"The opening message was the first," pointed out Neil.

"That don't count," said Knox. "That's what we _have_ to say."

"Alright, fine. Gimme the damn book," snapped Charlie impatiently, taking a long draft from his cigarette. Neil handed him the book and Charlie began to page through. Michelle raised her eyebrows in surprise and exchanged "sure-why-not?" glances with Neil. Charlie cleared his throat and began to recite.

"'_The Moon' _by Henry David Thoreau. Fitting, no?" he asked. Michelle smiled encouragingly at him and he winked, took a small breath and began to read. "'_The fool-orbed moon with unchanged ray, mounts up the eastern sky...Not doomed to these short nights for aye, but shining steadily. She does not wane, but my fortune, which her rays do not bless, my wayward path declineth soon, but she shines not the less. And if she faintly glimmers here, and her paled is her light, yet always in her proper sphere..." _He paused slightly to give a brash grin. "'_...she's mistress of the night.'"_

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"It was a dark and rainy night," began Neil furtively. "and this old lady, who had a passion for jigsaw puzzles, sat by herself in her house at her table to complete a new jigsaw puzzle. But as she pieced the puzzle together, she realized, to her astonishment, that the image that was formed was her very own room. And the figure in the center of the puzzle, as she completed it, was herself."

Michelle shivered. Ghost stories were one of those things that she hated to love and loved to hate.

"and with trembling hands, she placed the last four pieces, and stared in horror at the face of a demented madman at the window."

Charlie made an ghostly noise like a gust of wind blowing through trees.

"The last thing that this old lady ever heard was the sound of breaking glass," finished Neil. The boys laughed in disgust and revulsion at the frightening end to the story.

"This is true! This is true," Neil assured the boys.

"Sure," snorted Michelle.

"I've got one that's even better than that," exclaimed Cameron. Charlie let out a scathing laugh and Cameron said, "I do! There's a young married couple, and they're driving through the forest at night on a long trip. They run out of gas, and there's a madman—!"

"Oh, the thing with the hand," said Charlie, miming a hand scraping. The other boys reacted likewise, mirroring the hand motions.

"I love that story!" cried Cameron, seeming thoroughly disappointed that he didn't get his moment in the limelight.

"I told you that one!" scoffed Charlie.

"You did not! I got that...in camp in sixth grade!" snapped Cameron.

"When were you in sixth? Last year?" sneered Charlie as Pitts began to read from the book.

"_In a mean abode in the Sandkill Road, lived a man named William Bloat. Now, he had a wife, the plague of his life, who continually got his goat. And one day at dawn, with her nightshift on, he slit her bloody throat."_

The boys all laughed.

"Oh and it gets worse!" exclaimed Pitts. Michelle leaned over to read forward slightly and grimaced.

"Oh, that's disgusting!" she exclaimed, laughing slightly in disgust.

"What? What is it?" cried all the boys, leaning in to read what was so gross.

"You want to hear a real poem?" asked Charlie smugly, thinking himself too cool to read the grisly poem. Meeks looked up and offered him the book.

"No, I don't need it. You take it," muttered Charlie, digging around in his coat pocket.

"What, did you bring one?" asked Meeks.

"You memorized a poem?" asked Neil.

"I didn't memorize a poem," scoffed Charlie. "Move up..."

Neil moved to the side as Charlie stood up to take center stage, pulling out what looked like a glossy magazine excerpt.

"An original piece by Charlie Dalton," proclaimed Meeks.

"This is history, you know that? History!" cried Neil, smiling.

Charlie cleared his throat and held out the magazine except in front of him. Michelle leaned forward to see what it was. Slowly, he unfolded it to reveal a Playboy centerfold. She rolled her eyes, folded her arms and leaned back against the rock, not amused. The boys, on the other hand, could not have been more shocked.

"Where did you get that?!" cried Cameron.

"Gimme a break!" scoffed Michelle.

"What is it, 'Chelle?" asked Charlie, brandishing the paper in front of her nose. "You don't like it?"

"You're so immature," she said, rolling her eyes and pushing the obscene picture out of her face. "Those girls have no life. Once they hit thirty, they'll have no career, no husband, no kids, no education..."

"I'll have to disagree with you on _husband_," pointed out Neil, laughing.

"And she'll die an old, ugly _bag_!" snapped Michelle, smacking Neil on the shoulder.

"Okay, fine, Miss Buzz-kill," sneered Charlie. The boys laughed as Charlie began to read.

"_Teach me to love? Go teach thyself more wit_."

Michelle let out a "_Pffah_!" of contempt at his arrogant grin, as Neil stood up and shone his flashlight on what Charlie was reading. He laughed and then sat back down.

"_I, chief professor, am of it!"_ proclaimed Charlie, continuing to read. "_The god of love, if such a thing there be, may learn to love from me!"_

"Wow," said Neil.

"Did you write that?" asked Cameron, as the guys began to applaud. Charlie winked and turned the paper over.

"Abraham Cowley," he divulged. "Who's next?"

"Hmm," said Neil, looking around in mock thought. "I do believe that leaves...?" All the boys turned to Michelle. Her eyes widened.

"Oh, please, I can't follow _that_!" she exclaimed mockfully, gesturing to centerfold that Charlie had stuffed back in his pocket. Her smile was wiped off her face at once as she snatched the book from Meeks.

"Fine," she growled. Charlie smirked.

"She's just jealous," he whispered to Neil, just loudly enough so she could hear. Michelle whacked Charlie on the head playfully with the book. He chuckled and leaned back against the rock as she searched through the book. Poem after poem followed poem after poem...she didn't know which one to choose. Finally, she just opened the book and decided to read the poem she found there. It was a few stanzas from _"When the Lamp is Shattered_", by Shelley. She began to read.

"_'When the lamp is shattered, the light in the dust lies dead. When the cloud is scattered, the rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, sweet tones are remembered not. When the lips have spoken, loved accents are soon forgot. When hearts have once mingled, love first leaves the well-built nest; the weak one is singled to endure what it once possessed. O, Love! who bewails the frailty of all things here, why choose you the frailest for your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee, bright reason will mock thee, from they nest every rafter will rot, and thine eagle home leave thee naked to laughter. When leaves fall and cold winds come..."_

She trailed away.

"A bit morbid," admitted Neil. Michelle shrugged.

"My turn," said Neil, standing up and turning the page to the next poem. "Alfred Lord Tennyson," he said. "_Ulysses_." He scanned the page and began to read. "_Come my friends_," he looked up and grinned at them all, winking at Michelle. "'_tis not too late to seek a newer world. For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset. And though, we are not now that strength which in old days moved Earth and heaven, that which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts made weak by time and fate but strong in will. To strive...to seek, to find..._." He paused slightly and smiled. _"...and not to yield_."

There was scattered clapping around the cave.

"Alright, last poem of the night," said Knox, looking at his watch. "It's getting late...almost two!"

"Bloody hell," said Michelle, rubbing her eyes. No wonder she was so tired.

Meeks stood up and grabbed the book.

"Alright, me. I haven't gone since the beginning."

Michelle shifted her position and grimaced. Her butt was extremely sore and her eyes were starting to blur.

"I need something to rile us up," she murmured. "I'm beat."

"I've got one...here..._The Congo_, by Vachel Lindsay," said Meeks. "_Fat black bucks in a whine-barrel room, barrel-house kings with feet unstable." _He began to get deeper into the poem, continuing in a deep rolling bass. "_Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, pounded on the table, beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom! Hard as they were able, boom boom, BOOM! With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, boom-lay, boom-lay, boom-lay, BOOM!"_

Michelle smiled, began to rock in time with the chant that Meeks had gained.

"_Then I had religion, then I had a vision, I could not turn from their revel and derision_." His voice became more deliberate, solemnly chanting. "_Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, cuttin' through the forest with a golden track_!"

Charlie began to clap his hands on every beat, and the boys began to smile and rock along in time with Michelle. Gwen perked up immediately as Meeks continued to chant. "_Then I saw the congou, creeping through the black, cuttin' through the forest with a golden track..." _

"Meekssss...Meekssss..." hissed Neil, smiling brightly. Michelle began to clap.

"_Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, cuttin' through the forest with a golden track..."_

The boys began to chant along with him, silently at first, then with more enthusiasm as the rest of the boys joined in. Knox pulled the barrel out from underneath him that he was sitting on, and began to beat it with his gloved hand in time with the chant. Dust came off in great puffs from the barrel, and the boys stood up and began to walk around in a circle, bent low, their flashlights flickering around the cave, making noises with whatever they could find; sticks, rocks and even combs.

"_Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, cuttin' through the forest with a golden track...Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, cuttin' through the forest with a golden track..."_

Pitts even began to play jew harp, twanging it in time with the beats. Slowly, the boys filed out of the cave, chanting louder and louder until they were basically shouting it through the dark forest. They jumped in time with the music and laughed while they were doing it. Michelle laughed jubilantly and did a little twirl-jump in the air, chanting as loud as she could. She'd rarely had so much fun in her whole life, and the best part was?

Her parents weren't here to tell her to get to bed.


	6. Art and English

**A/N:**

_**PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! **_In response to a very insightful review from Elnariel, I have decided to add on some new information to CHAPTER 1 of this story. This update includes some more background information on why Michelle was admitted to Welton, and, incidentally, why she was the _only _girl.

_AND NOW FOR THIS CHAPTER:::_ I'm not exactly sure that art is or even would be an elective at Welton...but I made it up...because, frankly, I don't care about forensics or mathematics or chemistry club. Where's the creative fun in that? (says the selfish obsessive fangirl writer) I mean, common!!! Oh, and by the way, I highly doubt that Knox Overstreet would be in art either, but FYI, he is the only DPS boy in that class.

_This is also one of the best chapters, in my mind, that I've written so far. I was literally just as excited as the boys in Keating's class... I had the Mona Lisa painting in the background, and the Word pad document in front, and I just typed away at what I saw... __**look at the painting as you read this... it could seriously change your appreciation for it.**_

And also, I know I skipped around a bit in this chapter for the whole Keating-In-Class montage thing during the movie... I am perfectly aware that they probably didn't all happen in one class in one day, but I made it so the best parts were in fact as such. Don't like it? _You _try _**writing **_a montage. If you can do so, I'd be happy to steal it and use it in my story. HAHA HOHO.

xx

-----------------------------

"Now today," began Mr. Katterson, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses on the tip of his fat nose and pinning a large pencil sketch of a bowl to the chalk board. "I want you to attempt to copy this fine piece of artwork with as much precision and delicacy as you can. You must attempt to recreate the subtle lines of..."

And here, Michelle accepted regretfully, did the Katterson begin to reel off about the sketch as though it were a lover he had once had. _For Christ's sake, _growled Michelle inwardly. _It's a __**bowl**_...

After what seemed like hours, but turned out to only be about ten minutes, Katterson finally ended his drawl and gave them, as he called it, _"Free reign of the pencil and paper_".

Michelle looked down at her blank sheet of paper...so neat and crisp. The paper itself would turn out to be more beautiful than whatever hideous drawing Michelle would taint it with, she was sure of it. Even so, she drew a single, slightly half-moon-shaped line across the page. She had started to grimace before her pencil had even finished drawing it. It was horrible. She flipped the pencil and erased the line, blowing off the little rubber flakes from her paper and poising the graphite weapon to do more damage. Suddenly, an idea came to her.

Looking around the classroom and up at the teacher, who sat at his desk reading a book, she turned the page slightly and began to draw a few jagged lines...not too harsh--she didn't dare press so hard again-- but gentle enough to see the pretty dark lines of the pencil. Soon, shockingly, she began to see what she had wanted it to come out looking in the first place.

The cave.

Many smiles and sparkling of eyes came from Michelle as the minutes ticked by faster than she realized...and soon it was 8:45 in the morning: ten minutes before class was over, and her bowl drawing was still nothing more than a few traced lines.

Frantically, Michelle scribbled a vague outline of the bowl onto the paper just as Katterson walked by.

"Miss Bradley," boomed Katterson. Michelle jumped and stared up at him.

"Yes, Mr. Katterson?" she asked obediently.

"Can you please tell me what is on your paper?"

She looked down. If it wasn't such a serious situation, she would have just about died laughing.

"It's a bowl," she said in a low voice.

"No, no, Miss Bradley," said Katterson. "I believe this--" he picked up a the paper of the boy sitting across from her. It looked positively splendid. "--is a bowl. What you have drawn is... is simply not even close to being acceptable. F."

"F?!" cried Michelle, not able to hide the incredulity on her face.

"Well, what did you expect, Miss Bradley?" asked Katterson with a cruel chuckle.

"But...but I..." spluttered Michelle. "I drew this!" she finished quickly in an act of desperation. She brandished the portrait she had drawn. Katterson peered over his horn-rimmed glasses at it disdainfully.

"I have no idea what that is supposed to be," he sniffed after a three-second glance.

"Well, Mr. Katterson, if I may," intruded Knox, who sat a few seats to the left of Michelle. "I always thought that one of the great wonders of true art was that you could never decipher it's true meaning right away... it takes time and consideration of every aspect of the portrait, including the viewer's own take on the painting, and--"

"Mr. Overstreet," snapped Katterson. "How am I supposed to discover the --what was it?--"_true meaning_" of this abomination if I have no idea where to begin?"

"Well, if you---"

"Mr. Overstreet, it was a _hypothetical _question, and I would advise you not to interject when I am having a discussion with another student," interrupted Katterson.

Knox recoiled, and Michelle's cheeks burned with embarrassment not only at having gotten Knox in trouble, but at the fact that the spotlight was now once again turned to her.

"Miss Bradley, when I give you free art time, that is when you may draw whatever may pop into your feminine pubescent head, but today you were supposed to draw this bowl. You failed to do so, ergo, you fail the assignment." He turned to the rest of the class. "Your homework for tonight is to finish this drawing. For those of you who have finished, you have none."

Michelle groaned as the bell rang. She shoved her art notebook fiercly into her bag as she began to pack up her things. She felt eyes on the side of her face, and she looked up to see Knox.

"Hey," he said, giving her an almost apologetic look.

"Thanks for that," she said graciously, standing up and walking out with him.

"What were you drawing?" asked Knox, with a slight grin.

"The cave," muttered Michelle. "I can't draw bowls! I mean what the hell was that?"

"That, _mon ami_, is art," answered Knox smugly, as Knox and Neil reapeared from the evil depths of what looked like chemistry club.

"_What's _'art'?" asked Neil curiously.

"The hell-hole that it is," growled Michelle grumpily.

"Well, _someone _had a good day," drawled Charlie. Michelle groaned in agreement.

"Man, if only Keating taught everything," Michelle said. "God...if there's anything more straight-laced than church it's that stupid art class."

"She didn't draw the bowl were were supposed to be sketching," explained Knox.

"You were drawing bowels?" sneered Charlie. "Like, as in--"

"_Bowls_," snapped Michelle, not in the mood.

"Well, what'd'ja draw?" asked Neil.

"The cave, apparently," said Knox.

"Well, we all have English, next, right?" said Neil.

"Nope," said Knox, shaking his head, staring down at his schedule. "I have mathematics club."

"Oh damn, that's right!" cried Michelle. "We have English _after _lunch on Tuesdays!"

"I guess we'll all meet at lunch, then, right?" said Neil.

Michelle bid all the boys goodbye and then hurried off.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**X**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It was because of Michelle's rather unfortunate art class experience that she was extremely unhappy to find a picture of the Mona Lisa propped up against the chalk board as she walked into the English classroom later that afternoon. But, as this was in fact English class, she was rather curious to find out what sort of crazy-inspiring lesson her teacher had planned for them. All of the other boys looked equally intrigued.

Once all of the boys had taken their seats, Mr. Keating stood in front of the board.

"Now, a normal teacher," he began. "Would probably ask you a question like '_Who knows what this painting is called_?' But I think anyone who had at least half a brain knows what this painting is. We've seen, talked about it... had it shoved under our noses..."

There was scattered chuckles of agreement.

"But I wonder if you've ever actually looked at it, did you?" He paused for a moment, before turning around and walking towards the painting.

"What do you think this young woman was thinking as Da Vinci painted her?" asked Keating.

"When's lunch!" called out a boy from the back. Keating smiled.

"Yes, I suppose she may have been thinking that... but look at her expressions... the subtle tones of the skin and eyes and hair and the colors of the background... anything Da Vinci was trying to get across to the audience?"

There was a short silence before Knox spoke up.

"She looks like she's hiding something," he said deeply. After examining the portrait at Knox's perspective, Michelle did notice that the woman seemed to have a slight trace of a smirk on her lips... as though she knew something the painter did not.

"She's laughing at him," said Michelle, with a hint of incredulity, her head cocked to one side slightly. "You can see the laughter in her eyes... you can see the youth--it's still there."

"Very insightful, Miss Bradley, Mr. Overstreet," said Keating, nodding to each of them in turn. He turned to Neil. "Mr Perry?" he said. Neil looked up.

"Yes?" he said.

"What do you see in the portrait?"

Neil blinked a few times before squinting his eyes. It took a few moments for him to respond.

"In the background... it looks a bit like a ... bog or a marshy forest..."

"Very good, Mr. Perry!" said Keating, excitedly. "What could that signify?" But he was not asking Neil, he was again, looking around the classroom again. "Mr. Anderson!" he called out loudly. Todd looked up, looking thoroughly scared.

"Y-yes, sir?" he asked shakily.

"When you think of a bog, Mr. Anderson... what do you think of?" asked Mr. Keating. Todd blinked, and stuttered quietly to himself.

"I don't think the whole class heard you, Mr. Anderson... it's what?"

Todd looked up at Mr. Keating. For a moment, Michelle thought it was a look of hatred for Keating... but after looking closer, she realized it _self_-loathing.

"Slimy," he murmured.

"Good, good," said Keating keenly. "What else?"

"D-dark..." he muttered again.

"Yeah! She looks like she's in mourning," cut in Charlie. Mr. Keating looked up, directing his attention to the back of the room, where Charlie sat. Todd looked relieved beyond belief... as though he just been saved from death.

"What makes you think that, Mr. Dalton?" he asked. It was not accusing.

"Well," said Charlie, sitting up a bit. "She's wearing all black, isn't she? But... wait a moment... you can see... her sleeves..."

"They're gold!" exclaimed Michelle, noticing the slightly shinier cloth under the cloak-like shawl she bore around her shoulders. "Like she's trying to hide some sort of... scandal!"

Mr. Keating sat back, as the class stared in silence, with bated breath. The excitement in the room could have been cut with a knife.

"Gentlemen... lady," he said. "You have the makings of a poem."

Michelle blinked, then realized he was right.

"Go, be free... write it before it slips away!" cried Keating loudly, and the class burst into a shuffling of papers and a snapping of pencils. Soon, the class had been plunged into silence again. Michelle was scribbling away... trying desperately to remember all that had been said about the painting. She began to scribble down the makings of the poem...

_She dresses in black_

_to hide her heart_

_The golden sun of what's really there_

_The smirk of secrets_

_The sparkle of youth_

_And _

But it was as she was writing the new sentence that she heard a clunk of wood. She looked up to see Mr. Keating standing up on the desk. It was a rather shocking sight, but it was entertaining.

"Why do I stand up here?" he asked.

"To feel taller!" cried out Charlie without missing a beat.

"No!" boomed Keating, hitting the little silver bell on his desk that let out a _ding! _"Thank you for playing Mr. Dalton!"

They all laughed.

"I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way." He raised his hands slightly, and turned on the spot to examine the upper corners of the ceiling, stuffing his hands in his pockets before turning back to the boys.

"See, the world looks very different from up here."

There was a quiet silenece of pondering... _the painting, _thought Michelle.

"You don't believe me?" prompted Keating, taking out his hands from his pockets. "Come and see for yourselves, come on."

Charlie and Neil were the first ones to stand, while Michelle, Pitts and Knox followed close suit.

"Come on!" called Mr. Keating, starting to talk louder over the bustle of moving boys. "Just when you think you know something, you have to look at it in another way! Even though it may seem silly, or wrong--" he trilled. He jumped off the desk, staring at the boys as they glanced around the tops of the classroom.

"--you must try!" he insisted loudly. "Now when you read," he continued, as Neil and Charlie stood at the front of the desk. "Don't just consider what the author thinks, consider what _you _think."

Before casting a final glance at their teacher, the two boys jumped down as Michelle and Knox replaced them. It was a rather odd feeling, being able to glance around at all the desks, where she herself had once been sitting. It was a rather exhilarating feeling, even though she was only a mere three feet taller.

"You must strive to find your own voice!" cried Keating passionately. "Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it all!"

Michelle jumped down, smiling at Keating.

"Thoreau said _'most men lead lives of quiet deperation'!_ Don't be resigned to that! Break _out_!!" insisted Keating loudly. "Don't just walk off the edge like lemmings! Look around you!" he cried, as the school bell rang. Michelle hurried to collect her things.

"There! There you go, Mr. Priske, thank you! Yes!" Keating grabbed his briefcase and started at the door. "Dare to strike out and find new ground!"

Michelle packed her pencils away, still smiling.

"Now, in addition to your essays, I would like you to compose a poem of your own! An original work!"

Michelle's heart dropped... no! She couldn't write poetry! Mr. Keating seemed to find this a very good good time to flicker the lights on and off and chant ominously.

"That's right!" he called. "You have to deliver it aloud in front of the class on Monday... your Mona Lisa poems will not suffice! _Bonne chance_, gentlemen... Mr. Anderson!" he called out at last. Michelle looked up to see that Todd was the last one to jump off the desk. He faltered and held himself up, glancing at Keating.

"Don't think I don't know that this assignment scares the hell out of you, you mole!" he whispered horribly." Keating flicked the lights off, leaving Todd to jump down in darkness as the class laughed.


	7. Open Tryouts!

**A/N** I am soo sorry about the long waits. Here's my schedule...Monday: The night is pretty much free. (that's the only way I get any writing done). Tuesday: I have study hall from 2:30 to 3:35, and then color guard from 5 to 9. Wednesday: I have color guard from 3:00 to 5:00. Thursday: I have study hall from 2:30 to 3:35 and then on Friday: another free night, but usually I invite friends over, or pine over Dead Poets Society, Swing Kids, episodes of House, or some other form of film-literature that has RSL in it. So I am truly sorry about being so lax in updates. I have FOUR stories going.

---------------------

"Michelle!"

Michelle shot up straight in bed from her nap as Neil burst into her room.

"Wuzzgoinon?" she murmured.

"Michelle-- oh, God, Michelle. You have _no_idea what I just found!! This is fantastic... just fantastic... just unbelievable, really--"

"Okay... I... what?" asked Michelle groggily, rubbing her eyes.

"Look! Look what I found!"

A flustered Michelle, reflexes weakened after a nearly three quarters of an hour of sleep, flinched wildly as Neil tossed a bright gold flyer into her hands. She took the paper in her hands and ran her eyes down the length of it.

_Henley Hall presents  
**A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S  
DREAM**  
William Shakespeare_  
Everett Theatre

(Across from FiriStation)  
_"OPEN TRYOUTS!!"_

"It's... a play," she said slowly, after reading it through numerous times with blurred vision.

"Isn't it fantastic?!" he exclaimed. "Open tryouts!!" he hissed excitedly.

"Err... yes, it's g-great, Neil," said Michelle, a bit hesitantly. "For an actor... but... what has it got to do with you?"

"_Everything!"_ exclaimed Neil, standing up. "Ever since I can remember I've wanted to try this! I even tried to go to Summer Stock auditions last year but of course, my father wouldn't let me!"

"You want to be an actor? You never told me that!" said Michelle, smiling.

"Well, I've never really had a reason to act on those desires until now! But I finally know what I want to do now! And for the first time, I'm gonna do it!" he shouted, standing up on the bed opposite Michelle. "CARPE DIEM!!!"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up off the bed.

"Com'on!" he said, grinning. "I wanted to tell Todd!"

Michelle found it incredibly adorable how worked up Neil could get about something like this-- being one of the many things that she loved about Neil, his passion. _I mean, sure it was great that he had found something he loves to do..._she thought. But she was a bit worried about how his father would react. Neil had already said that his father had already expressed that he did not want Neil to take any part in acting... but again, this was during the school year, where his father would not be present. Maybe... just maybe he could pull it off?

Somehow, in her steeping session of thoughts, Neil had already somehow told Todd about the "_Open tryouts!!" _and was now chasing him around the room with a paper in his hand.

"Neil! Give it back!" shouted Todd.

"What is th--POETRY!!" shouted Neil jubilantly, still running up and down between the two beds in the room. "I'M BEING CHASED BY WALT WHITMAN!"

Michelle laughed.

"Lemme see!" she called and Neil thrust her the papers in an attempt to avoid being tackled by Todd.

"We are dreaming of a new day, when a-- _aaahh!"_ she screamed, making a dash for the nearest bed as Todd took a leap at her. "When a new day isn't-- Neil!" she shouted, tossing him the paper.

"What are you guys doing?" snapped a snobby voice from the door. It was Cameron, angrily brandishing a red notebook. "Can't you see I'm trying to--hey give that back!" he shouted as Neil had taken a detour and snatched Cameron's outstretched notebook.

"Don't be immature!" shouted Cameron, running after him. A positively beaming Charlie was grinning ear to ear from the doorway, and had immediately joined in the chase.

* * *

_And two parts Hydrogen and one... urgh... what the __**hell**__? I'm never going to be a chemist. __**Never**_

Chin perched in the palm of her hand, Michelle scribbled out yet another wrong answer on her Chem homework that seemed to drag on for an eternity. It really seemed like it would never end. She needed a break, she really did. She got up out of her chair, shoving it angrily back in it's place and walked out into the hall. Caught completely off guard, she wasn't prepared for the streak of a boy that flew down the hallway shouting loudly.

"Charlie! I got the part!!!"

Michelle blinked. It could only be one person.

"I'M GONNA PLAY PUCK!!!" screamed Neil to Pitts and Meeks through their headphones. A huge smile broke out over her face.

"Neil!" she cried. He turned around and flew towards her.

"I got the part, 'Chelle!" he shouted.

"That's fantastic!!" she squealed. "Oh my God, congratulations!!"

She had never seen Neil this hyper before, but she had very little time to brood on the matter, as Neil sped off into his room where Todd clapped him on the back. Neil sat down at the desk in front of the typewriter.

"Okay," he said, his hands out in front of him.

"So what do you have to do?" asked Michelle, giving Todd a friendly wink.

"I need a letter of permission from my father and Mr. Nolan," said Neil breathlessly.

"Well,_you're _not gonna write it," said Todd quickly.

"Oh yes, I am!" laughed Neil.

"Oh come on Neil you shouldn't do that," said Michelle half-heartedly.

"You're crazy!" cried Todd. Neil just laughed jubilantly and began to type. "_I... am ... writing to you... on behalf of... my son . . .Neil... Perry_."

Neil laughed and stomped his feet on the ground. "This is great!" he laughed. Michelle whacked him over the head with a stack of papers that was lying on the desk.

"Alright, I'm off to bed," she said with a note of finality. "I won't be a part of this."

"Hey, listen," said Neil quickly, scooting back from the table. "You can't tell _anyone _about this letter thing, okay? Not even Charlie. If it slips out, my father could find out."

Michelle noded. "Alright."

"Promise me," said Neil, his eyes filled with worry. Michelle gave him a smile. She had no idea this meant so much to him.

"I swear it on the Bible, alright?" she said, her hand on his forearm. "See you tomorrow, okay?"

Neil peered around to see if the coast was clear, then kissed her swiftly on the lips before departing back into his own room. Michelle smiled and turned back to her own room. She was exhausted.


End file.
